Degrees of Control

by Eve Dangerfield

  Sophia snorted. “If James bailed every time he was hit on by a desperate woman he’d never stay at a party for more than five minutes. See?”

  James extracted himself from the redhead and moved over to the bar to seize another beer. Popping the top with a flick of his wrist, he easily picked up a conversation with three of Simon’s friends. Charlie observed the redhead’s disappointment and her stomach lurched. “Soph, aren’t I going to try and hit on him?”

  Sophia brushed the hair from Charlie’s eyes. “Yes. But you look like a dream.”

  “A wet dream.” Hayley smirked. “I wish I had your tits.”

  Charlie’s palms were slick. She had the cold, sweaty anticipation of a pending injection. “So let me get this straight, James Hunter is a rich Texan who used to model. You do realize I’m a poor Australian who gets asked if she’s still in high school.”

  Hayley patted her on the back. “That’s only because you’re so short,”

  “That guy is prime real estate and I’m…” Charlie rolled her eyes trying to think of an appropriate comparison. “A car park.”

  Sophia sighed. “You’re not a car park. Trust me, he’s the one you want.” She gripped Charlie’s arm, her ice-blue eyes boring into her like drills. “You didn’t get rid of that shithead Dale to keep running scared, Charlotte. You want to fuck James Hunter? I guarantee he’ll want to fuck you. So go out there and own it.”

  Charlie swallowed hard. Her friend had a point but she was used to taking the backseat when it came to sex, making sure men were attracted to her before she made her own feelings clear. This felt like a bungee jump without a cord.

  Sophia leaned in closer. “This is what tonight is about. Confidence. Power. You need to be brave enough to ask for what you want in bed. You need to be able to approach the men you want to fuck. Who cares if it doesn’t work out? You can’t be ashamed anymore. I won’t let you. You’re better than that.”

  “Okay,” Charlie said, hating how squeaky her voice sounded. “I’ll go for it.”

  Hayley laughed. “I can’t believe you’re giving her a pep talk to fuck your cousin right now, Soph.” Hayley finished her drink with a gulp and gave Charlie another quick hug.

  “Good luck, Kemosabe. Whatever you do, don’t look him directly in the eyes. I did once and I went blind for like, ten minutes.”

  Hayley vanished back into the crowd leaving her a wing-woman short. With a vice-like grip, Sophia seized Charlie’s arm and steered her downstairs and across the crowded dining room.

  They approached the back of James Hunter who was still deep in conversation with three other men. How could you possibly be this intimidated by the back of someone’s head? Charlie was beginning to feel like the Titanic veering toward that one fatal iceberg.

  Sophia tapped on the iceberg’s shoulder and her cousin turned to look at them.

  Dear. God. Hayley had been right about his eyes, a bright hazel-green framed by thick black lashes that definitely hadn’t been glued on. Looking at him was like staring at the sun through a magnifying glass.

  “Well, hi there, James, I’m so glad you made it.” Sophia wielded charm like a switchblade, friendly with just the right amount of condescending. She still hadn’t removed her hand from Charlie’s arm. The clever bitch.

  “Wouldn’t miss it, Miss Sophia,” James Hunter drawled. “You’re looking lovely tonight. Who’s your friend?”

  He inclined his head toward her. He could see her. Charlie reminded herself it wasn’t physically possible to die from nerves and resisted the horrible urge to run away giggling.

  “This is Charlie, she’s on my softball team. Charlie, this is my cousin James.”

  They both looked at her expectantly.

  Say something, Bell. “Hey.” Nailed it.

  James nodded. “Pleased to meet you, darlin’.”

  Charlie’s stomach skyrocketed into her mouth. He and Sophia did have the same sprawling southern accent, but Sophia’s voice didn’t make her want to rip off her own underwear. The Hunter cousins discussed longhorns or fried chicken or some other Southern thing while Charlie willed her palms to stop sweating. She wanted to fidget, to rock on her heels and run her hands through her hair. James Hunter was like the world’s shittiest time-warp, one look and she was fifteen again. Charlie sensed other guests watching him, as though seeking his approval before laughing at a joke or getting a drink. James Hunter was a class-A alpha male, his arrogance sugar-coated in that southern drawl until every word that came out of his mouth seemed to say “go on, sweetheart, entertain me.”

  He was beyond intimidating.

  Just as Charlie contemplated faking a heart attack Hayley made a calculated re-appearance. Her hair was wild around her scalp as she pretended to be wasted or was perhaps just genuinely drunk.

  “Sophiaaaaaa! Come dance with me, bitch.”

  Sophia feigned a short protest and allowed herself to be dragged away. James watched them go with an amused look on his perfect face. Charlie wanted to shake her friends. That was their sophisticated seduction plan? The bait and switch? She’d uttered all of two words to James and those words were “Hey, James.” What kind of an introduction was that?

  He eyed her flatly as he uncapped a fresh beer with an easy flick of his wrist. It was a telling, masculine trait that made Charlie’s skin feel too tight. He was waiting for her to say something, to do something, but her mouth felt like it had been shot full of novocaine. He continued to stare at her for a long moment before he turned away, obviously returning to the conversation she and Sophia had interrupted. Her chest ached as she retreated slowly, as if underwater. What would Sophia say? And more importantly, which of the thirty-four remaining guys would she be forced to throw herself at next?

  Big, warm fingers grasped her left wrist.

  “Hey, slow down there, darlin’.”

  The hand urged Charlie around and she found herself struck by those fucking eyes. They were looking right at her, unmistakable interest burning in their greenish depths.

  Hope detonated in Charlie’s stomach like a bomb. He followed her. James let go of her wrist and her body ached for its return.

  He lifted the glass of whiskey in his hand. “Turned to offer you a drink and you were gone.”

  Bet he’s got a massive dick, Charlie’s mind whispered evilly.

  “Uh, thanks, but whiskey’s a little strong for me.” Actually, vanilla extract was too strong for her, but coming out and saying “I don’t drink” tended to make people suspicious. James shrugged and raised the tumbler to his own mouth, draining the glass in an instant. Their eyes met again, but this time James’ gaze dragged down her body so slowly she could have sworn physical sensation was involved. The silk clinging to her skin felt heavy, the atmosphere around her ten degrees hotter. The ball of seduction, as surreal as it seemed, was rolling. All she had to do was ride it to the end.

  He’s a human being, Bell, just like you. Pretend he’s a yoga student. An incredibly, ridiculously handsome yoga student.

  Charlie relaxed her posture and kept her gaze steady, not focusing on any one of his features, lest she be dazzled and rendered useless again. “Must be a southern thing, you Texans can really drink,” she said in a tone she hoped was more flirtatious than accusatory.

  “That we can. Where’s that accent from?”

  “Guess?”

  Most Americans thought Australians sounded like Crocodile Dundee. It was endearing to hear them take in her metropolitan Melbourne accent and presume she was British. James gave her another blistering once-over.

  “Australian.”

  Charlie was impressed. “Nice. I didn’t mention kangaroos or g’day or anything.”

  For the first time since she’d laid eyes on him, James smiled, a slight tilt of his lips that softened his stern features into something even more devastating. Charlie felt a pleasurable squirm of approval and mentally slapped herself.

  Rein it in, Joan Rivers, you’re not here to work your “Amusing Aussie
” routine.

  Her modus operandi regarding alpha males had always been to act dismissive and funny. She concealed her real-life attraction and lapse into fantasy when she was alone. Now she was close to something terrifyingly real and she found herself Dale-ing, unwilling to take the leap into the unknown.

  Let it happen, take the risk, be the girl you want to be.

  Dismissing every doubt in her head, Charlie looked up from underneath her eyelashes and let all the desirability she had radiate outward with her smile. “I think your accent has the advantage.”

  James took another pull of his beer bottle and eyed her with amusement, as if he knew exactly what she was doing. “Is that so?”

  “Of course, out of all the American accents, southern is universally agreed to be the sexiest.”

  With a lopsided smirk that almost stopped her heart, James leaned in closer, so close she could feel his breath against her ear. His scent hit her like a two-ton truck, warm and earthy and male. “That right, darlin’?” he drawled.

  Christ. Drawing on all of her remaining willpower, Charlie reached out a hand and placed it on his shoulder, feeling the soft cotton pulled taut over muscle and bone.

  “I think so, cowboy.” Oh shit, she hadn’t meant to call him that. But that’s exactly what he reminded her of, a sexy, out-of-this-era gunslinger, somehow standing in front of her wearing a cotton T-shirt. James didn’t seem thrown off by her horrific flirting. On the contrary, he gave her another lazy smirk and held out his hand.

  “Dance with me.”

  It wasn’t a question, it was a command. One that made every hair on her body stand on end. With a deep breath, Charlie placed her hand in his, triumph beating hot and fast in her chest.

  Chapter 2

  The dance floor was hot, crowded and vibrating with bass so thick you could taste it. Here, the polite veneer of the party had pulled back to reveal something primal. Enough tequila had been absorbed for the dancing to be blatantly sexual. Businesswomen, teachers, bankers, college students rubbing against each other, sharing sweat and saliva like animals. James cut through the dance floor, his big shoulders forcing people back in a way Charlie could only dream of. She moved in his wake, trying not to spike partygoers with her heels. On a dance floor like this, desire was as overt as the thudding music. It was making filthy possibilities fire in her brain like sparklers on a birthday cake. James turned suddenly and pulled her close. Just like that they were dancing face to face. He moved with a fluid, masculine confidence. Skillful, deliberate motions that spoke volumes about his body’s other capabilities. Ignoring the buzzing of her erogenous zones, Charlie closed her eyes and focused on the beat, letting it flow through her until her body relaxed. All that mattered was the music, her body and his. He was so close she could feel his body heat radiating out at her and his scent was twice as intoxicating in the darkness, cologne and whiskey, sweat and man. Charlie wanted to lick the scent from his skin.

  This is what he smells like when he fucks.

  Her body arched toward his as though drawn by magnetic attraction, but the too-respectful distance between them didn’t close. Confused, she tried again, but nothing. No matter how much she exaggerated her movements she couldn’t get anywhere near James. She had the distinct feeling he was arching away from her. Song after song pounded past and she grew sure of it. Their hands touched, her dress snagged on the button of his jeans but there was no bodily contact at all. She could have glanced up at him, read his expression, but something kept her gaze low.

  Did he not find her attractive? If so, why did he keep dancing with her, pushing other people aside if they ventured into their shared space?

  Unable to touch, unable to walk away, Charlie kept dancing. She danced until her dress clung to her body like water, and the tingle between her legs became an ache. The absence of pressure was infuriating. He was cock-blocking her. Sure, the cock he was blocking her from was his own, but what the hell? James Hunter was supposed to seduce her, use her and let her use him in return. Instead the guy Sophia had called a whore was playing hard to get.

  Unsure of what to do and tired of thinking, Charlie gave herself over to the music, tangling her hands through her hair and sweeping them down her body. Walled in by people intent on their own pleasure, she danced with her eyes closed until she forgot her own frustration, until there was nothing but music, lust and him. The very tips of her breasts swept across hot cotton and she gasped. The brief friction enough to send a shockwave of pleasure through her skin. Blindly, she arched toward him, wanting to feel it again, but James moved away once more.

  Bastard!

  Charlie’s face burned. She was done literally throwing herself at him. She half turned, determined to flee, when a broad fingertip placed itself under her chin. Her eyes flew open, half convinced someone else was touching her. Under the strobe lights James’ face held no trace of all-American appeal. Shadows exaggerated his sharp cheekbones and he wore no trace of a smile, arrogant or otherwise. He looked dangerous and powerful and as immense as a brick wall. He stared down at her, his eyes flashing green and red, black and blue. Hypnotizing her. James bent forward and the brush of his stubble against her cheek sent a thousand invisible hands across her skin. “I know what you want, darlin’. You go on and ask me nicely and you might just get it.”

  Lust and confusion spiked through Charlie’s bloodstream like amphetamines. He knows. How does he know? Did Sophia tell him? Did Gloria paint “submissive” on my head in invisible ink?

  She understood why she’d been unable to meet his gaze before. Eye contact made her achingly susceptible to the dominance he exuded like oxygen, even now it felt like his gaze was boring into her.

  I can’t go through with this. I’m not ready to put a face on my faceless fantasy man.

  So why was her breathing so shallow? Why was her heart racing and her blood water-thin? Charlie felt her lips part, her body begging for what her idiotic pride wouldn’t utter. This was what Sophia meant about bravery, exposing herself like this was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

  Charlie looked straight into James’ eyes. “Touch me. Please.”

  In an instant he closed the space between them. A rough hand sliding down her back, the other settling firmly on her waist. Their pelvises locked together and the evidence of James’ arousal pressed hard against her abdomen, making her gasp. His T-shirt was paper-thin and Charlie could feel every inch of him beneath it, warm skin stretched over hard slabs of muscle and bone. After an hour of torment the hard planes of his body felt like heaven.

  “Good girl,” James muttered into her ear and bit down softly. The words sent a shiver down her spine. “Now be patient and take what I’m gonna give you.”

  He slid a thick denim-clad thigh between her legs, and Charlie moaned aloud.

  “You like that, huh?”

  He rubbed his thigh against her with quick, controlled movements, dancing to any observer, chaos to her hot, overstimulated flesh. Within seconds Charlie was writhing against him, torturing herself with friction. She could feel herself drenching her panties, her body preparing itself for the penetration that was meant to accompany such feelings. James’ hands clenched her hips, the span so wide he was touching almost all of her panties through her dress. He rocked her gently, pressing her down against his leg in firm insistent strokes. Charlie whimpered, the noise lost in all the bass.

  “That’s it, girl, get ready for me.” He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to her ear. “You like it now, wait till I’m inside you, making you rub up on me like this.”

  With dim horror Charlie realized something very bad was happening. If James kept growling orders and manipulating her body this way, she was going to come against his leg. Fully clothed. In public. She was kinky, but she wasn’t that damn kinky. She needed to do something and soon.

  Pressing every available inch of her body back into his, Charlie stood on her tiptoes. She wasn’t tall enough to reach his ear, but James bent down, scraping his de
nim-clad thigh between her legs as he did.

  “I’m going to go get some water,” she whispered. “Would you like to come?”

  James stared down at her with stern eyes, sizing her up. If she didn’t have his cock pressed against her hip, she’d have guessed that he was pissed. Then without moving his eyes from hers for a second he nodded once, again reminding her irresistibly of the Lone Ranger.

  Scared to wait a moment longer, Charlie tore her hips from his, the absence a physical ache between her legs. With no chance of parting the sea of people like James she slipped between couples, ducking and weaving her way off the dance floor. Her instincts told her James followed, but like Orpheus in the Greek myth she needed to look back. Sure enough he strode two paces behind, his face set in a way that made her want to walk faster.

  Charlie reached the edge of the dance floor and moved down the darkened hallway. She let her hands trail across the walls until she found the bathroom and quietly slipped inside. All she could hear was the ringing in her ears and her own shallow breathing. After the thumping of the dance floor the near-silence was almost unbearable.

  A large silhouette appeared in the doorway, and before she had the chance to react she was hoisted onto the bathroom counter. She could just make out James pulling his T-shirt over his head, and cursed her eyes for not adjusting to the darkness sooner. The spark she felt on the dance floor reignited, bright as a flame. James blew out a harsh breath, as though considering where to begin.

  Ravage me. Punish me for teasing you. Make me yours.

  He drew her dress up over her legs, callused fingertips catching on the silk as he tucked the material around her hips. She expected him to wedge himself between her thighs but instead he began tracing slow, lazy circles into her skin. It felt like a frisk, a slow inspection of property, meant to assess rather than arouse.

  Desire shimmered in her belly like heat above a sun-scorched road and she waited for the lick of shame, the nagging voice that told her she was doing something bad. Nothing. His big hands returned to her upper body, caressing her shoulders, sweeping her hair away from her chest to run feather-light fingers across her collarbone. Charlie waited, praying his touch would run to where she needed it. Two thick thumbs brushed over her nipples and she moaned aloud, the sound slicing the air like a blade. She reached for him and his hands fell away from her breasts.